


winter under the boughs

by mikkey_bones



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Sparring, Winter, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkey_bones/pseuds/mikkey_bones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The season in which Tauriel becomes Vice-Captain of King Thranduil’s Royal Guard is also the season in which Tauriel becomes Legolas’s friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	winter under the boughs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr user [voxantiqua](voxantiqua.tumblr.com), who is not having the best time right now - I hope this helps a little! The fic takes place well before _The Hobbit_ movie.

Though winters are cold, and this one particularly icy, life in Mirkwood continues as usual.  For sparring they move inside, or dredge up old furs that have lain long in storage – trophies from hunts in the ice fields of the far north, where the snow hares provide soft furs for the insides of coats and boots, and the great ice bears give their hides for cloaks and muffs.  Tauriel has a pair of mittens she particularly likes, warm rabbit fur on the inside and soft, tanned leather on the outside, a relic from her first trip north.

She is putting them on and preparing to leave the Halls when Gwainor stops her, soft spoken as usual, and beckons her into an indoor practice room.

“Your skills have improved tremendously in the past century,” he says, keeping his voice low.  His hair is graying at the temples but in spite of his age, he is the best fighter Tauriel knows.

Tauriel ducks her head quickly.  As her commander and nearly a noble in his own right, the captain of the king’s guard always deserves respect, even in informal conversation.  “Thank you, my lord,” she says.

“I would like to spar with you today,” Gwainor says.  “We will use staffs.”  Tauriel nods her head again, keeping her eyes low.  “You will be blindfolded.”

The last stipulation startles Tauriel enough that she looks up, meeting Gwainor’s eyes with surprise.  “Excuse me, my lord?”

Gwainor chuckles, some of his old rough humor coming through.  (Tauriel has heard stories of the way he used to laugh and drink with the other warriors, before his cohort was picked off one by one, dying or fading, until Gwainor was the only one left.)  “You are too reliant on only one of your senses, Tauriel,” he explains.  “Sight is not the only way to observe your surroundings.”

Tauriel bites her lip, her heart speeding up, as Gwainor moves into the supply room.  She shifts her weight from foot to foot, balancing with practiced ease, and looks around the sparring ring.  It’s in one of the smaller caves close to the periphery of the Halls, always uniformly cool in the winter and the summer.  Her hands begin to feel too warm and she removes her gloves and her fur lined coat, placing them neatly outside the ring.  As she moves, she counts the paces, so she can remember how big the ring is when she can’t see it.

“Don’t do that,” Gwainor says, jarring her out of her count – she made it to thirteen steps on her way back to the center.  “In a real battle situation, will you have time to measure out your paces?”

“No,” Tauriel says after a moment, and catches the wooden staff he tosses to her.  She holds it at her side in the resting position as Gwainor comes up behind her, tying a cloth blindfold around her eyes.  He ties up a few strands of hair with the cloth and she bites her lip.

Blindfolded, Tauriel feels the world simultaneously collapse and expand.  The walls and ceiling around her, though she can visualize their exact dimensions, fall away, so she is in a void of endless black space.  Yet even in this infinity, she finds her focus returning intently to her body – where she will (and can) step, how fast her heart is beating, how she strains her ears to hear the faint rustling of cloth, the slight noises when Gwainor steps back.

“I’m moving in front of you,” Gwainor says, and she hears him step around.  She shifts her grip on the staff, swinging it forward and holding it at a ready position.

“Do not tense up,” Gwainor says.  Tauriel exhales and releases the tightness in her shoulders, closing her eyes instead of leaving them straining against the dark fabric.  “Feel your surroundings.  Listen.  Take in what you know.  _Observe_ , without your eyes.”

Tauriel inhales and exhales again, shifting into a more fluid position.  She hears the rustle of Gwainor’s clothes, the noise of her own breathing and movement, and, distantly, the sound of dripping water.  Melting icicles, perhaps?

Suddenly, there’s a flutter of movement.  Before she knows what she’s doing, Tauriel brings up her staff in a block, moving it towards the sound.  Her staff collides with Gwainor’s and the impact is so loud, compared to the quiet noises of moments before, that Tauriel is startled enough to lose her focus.  The next blow catches her lightly in the shoulder.

“Again,” Gwainor says.  “A truly skilled warrior will be able to fight blind.”

\---

Tauriel and Legolas are not friends.  They are, however, of age – Tauriel is only four centuries older – and Tauriel has no siblings or parents to speak of (her mother faded, her father, a guardsman, captured), so they find themselves paired together more often than not.  Gwainor seems to encourage their closeness, perhaps because Tauriel is one of the few warriors who will not hesitate to strike the prince in their sparring sessions.

She’s not sure if Legolas has actual friends.  When they were younger, she vaguely remembers more children – twins, scampering around the trees with him.  One of them pulled her hair.  But they are gone now, and Legolas is alone.  During the winter, he spends most of his time in the practice rooms or in the library; when it is warmer he has started to patrol with the guards that keep the borders of his father’s realm safe.

Today, she finds him pacing the hallways near his chamber, already clad in his fur-lined greens.  “Good evening, my prince,” she says, stopping at the end of the hall and inclining her head.

“Tauriel,” Legolas says, turning towards her.  “I was going to go to the sparring rooms.  Why are you here?”  Though the hallway only lit dimly, his blond hair gleams – Legolas takes after his father; his mother was much darker.

“Captain Gwainor sent me,” Tauriel says, bowing her head.  “He said you have not come to practice in weeks, and bid me invite you.”

Legolas frowns slightly as he comes up to stand level with Tauriel.  “I’ve been busy.”

With practiced deference, Tauriel keeps her eyes on the floor.  In the prince’s suite of rooms, the geometric engravings on the stone floor become even more complex – sweeping lines and curves making the carved stone resemble a river rushing forward.  “It was not a reprimand, my prince.”

“Stop calling me that,” Legolas says.

Tauriel is young enough and surprised enough that she lifts her head and looks at Legolas with wide eyes.  He looks almost amused.  “You’ve beaten me enough times that I think we should be on a first name basis.”

Legolas is often friendly to her – friendlier with her than he is to the other elves, with whom he both spars and speaks less.  This is merely a continuation of his usual behavior, so Tauriel isn’t sure why it feels different.  “Yes, my–” she says, and cuts herself off before she says ‘my prince’ yet again.  “Yes, sir.”

“Nor am I your commander,” Legolas says, passing Tauriel to walk down the hall, towards the area where the guards are holding their practices.

Tauriel follows him.  He is not her commander yet but one day, she imagines, he will be; after all, a prince must lead his troops to battle.  Is that not what he is training for?

“Yes,” she says anyway, because this friendliness is a command as much as everything else.  “Legolas.”

Legolas turns to glance at her, his blue eyes holding an expression she cannot quite read – it’s evaluating, probably.  He has a sharp mind, and though he is inexperienced, he’s quick.  “Thank you.  Tauriel.”

He has always been so oddly, stiffly formal, which is one of the reasons this newfound informality surprises Tauriel.  She contemplates his back with some curiosity, and decides to ask him a question – another unusual behavior, for her.

“Pardon my intrusion, my– er, why have you been so busy?  I mean, what have you been doing?” Tauriel says, and immediately winces (behind Legolas’s back, of course) at the awkward way she phrased her question.

“My father needed my assistance,” Legolas replies, and the answer is brusque enough that Tauriel knows not to press.  “Are the practice rooms still as cold as I remember?” he adds, which means that he is not displeased; her question was not _too_ out of line.

“Probably colder,” she replies.  This is the longest conversation they’ve ever had.  King Thranduil is not known for being talkative, and Tauriel assumes the same is true for his son.  They continue to the practice rooms in silence.

\---

The moon has already risen (Tauriel can’t see it, but she can feel it) when she knocks on the door of the prince’s chambers.  He is already wearing clothing for a winter patrol – his jacket is lined with white fur, finer than her brown furs.

“This outing has been suggested by my father, hasn’t it?” he asks.

Tauriel had done her best to make her invitation seem spontaneous, but it’s not surprising that Legolas has seen through it.  She won’t keep the pretense going long enough to be insulting.  “It was proposed by Captain Gwainor, actually,” she says, stepping aside so he can join her in the hallway.  “With Galion’s approval.”

Therefore, King Thranduil can hardly protest.  The forest is safer at this time of year than during the summer, and a patrol has already gone to clear the way for them.

Legolas inclines his head.  “Very well.  Shall we?”

Even though their truancy has been technically pre-approved, Tauriel still leads Legolas through the back ways of the King’s Halls, so that they do not stumble upon anyone who might spread rumors (and rumors spread fast, especially during the winter, when the warm stone walls seem to close in on them all).

When they finally make it outside, Tauriel nods to Orelien and Húron, who have taken the gates for tonight.  The cold air hits her like a blow to the chest and she stands for a moment and breathes deeply.

Legolas looks like he is having the same reaction, his head thrown back.  He’s actually smiling, Tauriel observes as she looks over at him.  It’s surprising enough that she feels an answering smile pulling at her lips.

“Come on,” she says, and begins to run.

Legolas follows.

Thranduil’s Halls are carved from living rock, part of a vast underground system of caves that existed before the First Age, as old as memory itself.  Tauriel leads Legolas further into the woods, away from the hill where the Great Gate is located.  They run along twisted roots and branches, hair streaking behind them, taking paths as familiar to them as breathing.

As they reach a clearing, Tauriel slows and throws up her hand, signaling with the closed fist the soldier’s code for “Stop.”  Legolas comes to a stop along with her, only panting slightly.

“We climb now,” Tauriel says, pointing to the tree in front of them.  Its trunk is warped and its thick branches extend like a stairway into the canopy.  She allows Legolas to go first, prepared to catch him in case he makes a misstep and falls.

As they ascend, the foliage gets thicker and the cold grows more intense.  Tauriel is grateful for her rabbit-fur mittens, but wishes they were thicker.  Ice coats the highest branches, sometimes interspersed with patches of snow.

“Be careful,” Tauriel says.  Legolas doesn’t acknowledge the warning – fair enough.  He is already being careful, and Tauriel is just worrying.

They make it to the top of the tree without incident, ice notwithstanding.  Legolas looks at her.  “My father is, even now, expecting me at the celebration,” he says.

Tauriel grins a little.  She has never liked the court celebrations.  There are too many elves in one place, and the wine flows too freely for her to be comfortable.  “Then I am certain that, even now, Captain Gwainor and Galion are tendering their apologies and regrets,” she replies.  “We will have our own Midwinter celebration here, like I said.”

With that, balancing carefully on the bough, she pushes aside the remaining leaves and straightens so that she can look up and out over the forest, leaves shining icy and silver in the moonlight, with the moon and winter constellations arranged above.

The view quite literally takes her breath away, and digs her fingers into the bark under her hands to make sure she doesn’t topple over in awe.

“I’ve never been up here before,” Legolas comments at her side.  She forgot he was there.  “It’s beautiful.”

Tauriel looks at him.  He is looking at the sky, the stars reflected in his blue eyes.  The vision makes Tauriel smile slightly.  “Once when I was here in the winter,” she offers, “I saw the great green lights of the north, just that way.”  She points north.  “They were only a flicker on the horizon, but they were there.”

Legolas is looking at her now.  “I prefer this to the celebration in the Halls,” he says.  “Let us stay longer.  We can look for the great lights.”

His request makes Tauriel’s smile widen, and she turns her attention back to the stars.  When she was very young, she remembers her father telling her that the stars can speak.  She leans against the tree trunk and tries to hear what they are saying.

\---

The winter lingers longer than usual, but soon the ice that coats the branches begins to melt.  Water rarely falls under the boughs of the wood, but the dripping meltwater is almost like rain.  The season is turning.

Tauriel gets summoned to the Throne Room before the winter is completely gone.  The winter cold lingers both outside and in the large cavern, in spite of the light that filters in through high windows.  King Thranduil is sitting on his throne, eyes wide, expression cool as usual.

Legolas is there as well, standing at his side; below them, Galion and Captain Gwainor wait at attention.

Seeing the Captain of the Guard and her de facto commander (as Thranduil does not leave his Halls to lead in battle) makes Tauriel nearly miss a step.  She steels herself and moves onward.  This cannot possibly be a reprimand for Legolas’s absence during the Midwinter celebration; too much time has passed for that.  As she walks, hands at her side, Tauriel runs through a mental list of any wrongdoings she has committed.

There are a few – stealing a fruit tart from the kitchen before a winter feast, for example – but nothing that warrants the attention of the King himself.

When she reaches the audience area she immediately goes on one knee and bows her head.

“Stand,” Thranduil says.

Tauriel stands.  Being a member of the Royal Guard, she has more experience with the King than other elves of her age; however, that does not make his blank gaze any less unnerving.  She keeps her head down.

“Throughout the years, Captain Gwainor has kept me apprised of your progress,” Thranduil says.  “He has always spoken of you very highly.”

There is a pause, and Tauriel says, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Thranduil continues.  “Recently Captain Gwainor has also requested I appoint another warrior as his co-captain, to help him with his increasingly heavy duties.  He recommended I choose you.”

It takes an effort of will for Tauriel to keep her eyes focused on the bottom half of the throne, rather than raising them boldly to stare into Thranduil’s face.  “I-I am honored,” she stammers, but Thranduil holds up a hand.

“In deference to your youth, however, I will not be appointing you co-captain as per Captain Gwainor’s wishes.  Instead, you will be his second in command.  Therefore, congratulations, Vice-Captain Tauriel.”

Tauriel bows low, her red hair falling in front of her, in order to hide her blush.  Vice-Captain!  She’s glad that Thranduil did not promote her to a full captain; she feels inexperienced for this vice-captaincy already.  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she repeats.

When she looks up again she happens to catch Legolas’s eye.  He smiles at her.  Hesitantly, Tauriel smiles back.

Later, she meets Gwainor in the practice rooms for another bout of sparring.  This time, when he ties the blindfold around her eyes, she calms her mind and extends her other senses.  She hears him step back and around, registers the soft footfall on the floor and gauges his distance.  She strikes first, and her staff is met by Gwainor’s block.

“Good,” he says.  His voice gives her another marker with which to locate him, as does his scent – the smell of pine and earth he carries with him offsets the cold rock scent of the cave.  Taking her cue, she disengages in order to strike again.

The block comes later than she expected.

“Good!” Gwainor repeats.  Tauriel can hear the smile in his voice.  “You almost struck me with that one.  I’m going to attack now.”

Tauriel frowns.  In a real fight, she thinks, no one announces when they are attacking.  But she quickly forgets her annoyance as Gwainor drives her back with a series of blows.  Somehow, calmly, she blocks every one, surprising herself when no blows land on her shoulders or thighs, and as soon as the bout is over, pushes up the blindfold.

Gwainor is standing across from her, staff at his side, looking at her proudly.  “You have gotten much better at using all of your senses.  Soon I’ll be no match for you even when you are blindfolded.”

It’s a jest.  Tauriel smiles.  “Then who will I have for a sparring partner?” she asks.

“Legolas,” Gwainor suggests, and he looks serious about it.  “Friends make the best partners.”

Friends.  Tauriel could argue with that, but instead she nods, still smiling.  “As long as he’s the one wearing the blindfold.”

**Author's Note:**

> _fin._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Captain Gwainor is my invention, as are the other elves mentioned in the story (aside from Legolas, Thranduil, and Tauriel). I got their names from a [Sindar name generator](http://elf.namegeneratorfun.com/); also, apologies for any mistakes I made with Tolkien-verse mythology.


End file.
